


The Trial of Central Command vs “Yorak”, Half-Blood Traitor to the Galra Empire

by KupalaNight



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, BOM Keith, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro, M/M, Prisoner Keith (Voltron), Very Brief Suicidal Ideation, champion keith, galra commander shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29495766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KupalaNight/pseuds/KupalaNight
Summary: Commander Shirogane is everything any Galra tries to be.  An empire poster-boy.  He is also the one assigned with delivering Keith to his own execution.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 66





	The Trial of Central Command vs “Yorak”, Half-Blood Traitor to the Galra Empire

> 𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 “𝚈𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚔”, 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙶𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚊, 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗. 𝙷𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚢, 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚝𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚛𝚢, 𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎 [𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍], 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙 [𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍], 𝚑𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚜, 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚛 𝚉𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚘𝚗.

* * *

_“State your name.”_

_“No.”_

_“The jury calls forth Commander Shirogane.”_

_“Commander. Seeing as the detainee remains uncooperative, from this point forward, you will be speaking for it. State its name, if you know it.”_

_“He answers to Yorak, if that helps the Council.”_

* * *

The key to survival is that you keep on going even after you forget what you’re going on _for_. When you’re putting one foot in front of the other just for the sake of it.

Right now, Keith’s not even able do that much, being tied to a chair with electric cables. The door slides open, and his hope tanks even lower.

It had to be _him_ , he thinks bitterly, pausing in his grapple with the ties. The face towering above him is one he’s seen before. Incisive features. Scar slashed across his nose.

The Galra Commander sits down calmly on the other side of the table.

“An escape attempt before I could even welcome you aboard,” he raises his eyebrow, eyes staring out coolly in their yellow sclerae. “That’s a new record. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Question number one,” asks the man. “Have you eaten yet?”

 _That_ throws Keith off. It isn’t the usual leading question to most interrogations. “What?”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Fuck off.”

He doesn’t fuck off. Instead, the officer folds his arms and leans back. They’re mismatched, Keith notices. One has metal fingers, but it’s hard to tell how far up the prosthetic goes under the armor. 

“Noted. My name is Shirogane, or Shiro, for short. And my sources say you go by Yorak.”

 _Silence_.

“Do you mind if I call you that?” presses Shirogane.

“I don't care what you call me.”

“Yorak it is, then. You’ve gained quite the reputation, Yorak. But I assume you haven’t put yourself through phoebs of lockup and torture just for the attention. So what is all this about?”

Keith snorts accusingly. “You know _what it’s about_. You can tell your people that I won't stop until Zarkon’s dead and his empire’s over.”

The guard by the door chokes on air. But Shirogane isn’t as affected by the words of sedition as he is by the interruption. He cocks his head at the sentry, ears flicking. It’s the first show of annoyance Keith’s seen on him. The guard excuses himself without being expressly told, and Shirogane only speaks once the door slides closed again.

“I, for one, think you’re perfectly sane,” he says mildly, “For the most part. That is quite the statement, though.”

“You don't seem to be from around this quadrant,” he continues - _as if he can’t tell_ , Keith seethes - “so I don’t know for sure what kind of education you’ve had. Are you aware the Empire is ten thousand years old?”

Keith levels him, look for look. “Sounds like it's overdue for some change.”

Strangely enough, Shirogane’s stare seems almost empathetic. _Condescending_ , Keith decides. Keith knows how he appears to them all. Small. Covered in flesh, instead of fur or scale. It’s why some Galra stare at him like a piece of meat, or a feral animal that needs to be muzzled. But the look this one’s giving him isn’t either, and that affronts Keith worse than if the larger man were to reach across the table and backhand him across the face.

“You’re so young,” observes the Commander.

Keith spits on him.

It lands on his cheek, streaks along the light dusting of lavender fur like a fat comet. The Galra doesn’t wipe it off. He pauses for a tick, processing what just happened. Then he sets his strong jaw and rises from his chair. The prosthetic hand starts to heat and glow.

 _This is it_ , Keith thinks, snarling at the Galra.

And then suddenly - _snap!_ The binds around his hands are sliced clean through.

“Alright. Up,” he orders.

“What?”

“Come on, hotshot."

Keith flinches at the fingers wrapping around his shoulder. “Come _where_?”

“You want to fight?” asks Shirogane, “Let’s fight.”

The Commander leads him to an enclosed training room, oversized hand dwarfing Keith as the boy tries to shrug him off. To his credit - or _stupidity_ \- Shirogane doesn’t bother to cover Keith’s eyes as they round the halls. He thinks about making a break for it, but he keeps moving at the promise of a challenge and the threatening warmth of the weaponized fingers so close to his throat.

On the mats, Keith watches the older Galra shed his armor. The orange neon chest plates drop to the floor, revealing the matte black underneath over layers of bulk and muscle. It’s patronizing. A show of evening the fight. If they hadn’t taken Keith’s blade from him, it would already be five inches deep in his jugular.

It also gives Keith a clearer look at the bionic arm. The limb seems to start just under the man’s bicep, where the memory material is rolled up and tucked neatly around the prosthetic.

Keith licks his lips and waits until the Galra has his chiseled arms stretching high. Then, on lightning feet, he sends himself hurling towards Shirogane without a warning.

He lunges, aiming a kick at the shock of white hair -

\- and gets a claw wrapped around his ankle, flipping him onto the ground. He ends up snarling, nose down and cursing into the mat like a scorned pet.

Kolivan and Antok had taught him right. It takes just one move for a fighter to feel out an opponent. What Keith can sense, is a reservoir of repressed strength. Massive and strong as some of the largest beasts Keith ever fought, but Shirogane’s moves are sharpened with an intellect to hold back. He could have slammed Keith down, flung him so hard he shattered.

Ignoring the chill down his spine, Keith flips back up on his legs to turn on the defensive. He hates the Galra Commander a little more, just for that.

As Keith prowls around him in a circle, the warlord’s footwork matches him step for step. “I don’t know what you may or may not have found,” he calls to Keith, “or what new discovery you might have heard about. But you wouldn't be the first to chase after a false dream.”

Keith grits his teeth. “It’s not about some dream. Or the chances. It's about doing what's right. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand what that means, anyway.”

Next thing he knows, the room is spinning as fast as a wormhole, and he’s pinned on the mat again, hot breath on his cheek.

“What’s right?” demands Shirogane, towering over him. “And those workers you freed in the camp? How long will the rogue ones last in deep space?” Keith tries to scramble up, wrapping his arms around a corded shin, but the galra raises his leg and sets a boot down on Keith’s chest - just barely pressing down on his ribcage in warning. He leans forward, over his thigh. “Where do they have to go now? Their planets have been _blown up._ ”

“Whose fault is that?” Keith jeers, feeling the sting in his mouth as he speaks around his growing fangs. “You're the one who _destroyed them_!”

“I did. After I had them evacuated.”

The Commander kneels down, and pins Keith to contain him as he thrashes. “And all the prisoners in the surrounding camps? Thanks to your stunt, they’ll be fodder for the fighting pits.”

“ _I couldn't leave them!_ ” 

A miserable, hoarse shriek cracks through the room. It takes a moment for Keith to realize it’s his own. After a few ragged breaths, Shirogane’s face comes back into focus. Keith realizes his own teeth are bared and panting just inches above the larger man’s face.

The man under him does not flip Keith onto his back - just lays there, rubbing circles into Keith’s wrists, looking up with all that gold in his eyes.

It was all for nothing, breaking into the camp. His mother hadn’t been there. The only one who knows the Blue Lion’s location, and now she’s missing. The lion is probably hidden deep somewhere in a faraway planet. Trapped forever. Abandoned.

He slumps. Gives one last, desperate claw over the vantablack material under his palms. The room reeks like the mixed sweat of too many galra. Too many. He needs to bury his nose in the bigger man’s collar. He needs -

A hand reaches up, runs through his hair. “Go wash yourself off, little fang.”

In the latrines, the showers have a setting for both water and chemical spray. The water is a reprieve - after a particularly nasty arena fight, they’d only hose him down with disinfectant. His wounds would burn and his eyes would sting and he could feel it nearly singing his nose hairs. The cool of water over his battered spine is soothing.

“ _Little fang_ ,” he grumbles to himself.

Before he could remember that he’s not alone, he hears footsteps over the steel flooring.

“Clothes.”

Keith peers out from around the stall, and sees towels and some changes of uniform laid out on the bench. And Shirogane - Shirogane has his back turned to him.

 _He better_ , thinks Keith. _If he knows what’s good for him._

Except - the Galra is stripping his own suit off, too. Keith watches. To be on the alert, in case he tries anything. But the man turns on the spray, and makes a show of ignoring Keith. The older man doesn’t even bother to turn on the holographic curtain, to cover himself. It incenses Keith - a beast like that lumbering naked just across from him. Back turned, he strips in the stall across from Keith and activates the mist.

Shirogane is everything any Galra tries to be. An empire poster-boy. Massive. At least three times Keith’s size. Under the lavender fur, he’s chiseled out of planes of muscle, rippling around his back and thighs and - and _other places._ On some colonies, there are towering, fearsome stone monuments of famous galra heroes from ancient legends - before the war, before Zarkon. Back when Daibazaal was in one piece and their race just started to fare the stars. Watching the man reminds Keith of looking up at those statues.

After a minute, Shirogane deactivates the mist, and turns to reach for his towel. 

Keith reddens and looks away. Suddenly he’s acutely aware of how small he is, with his pink skin and the mop of black hair plastered to face and shoulders.

When he steps back far enough, Keith turns off his own spray and rushes to grab a towel. Scrubs it across his flesh as quickly as possible. He looks up to give one more warning glare at Shirogane, and stills when he sees the bigger man looking back at him. There’s a wry smile on his face, and he drags the cloth through the fur around his own flexing shoulders.

Then he unwraps the towel, and throws it over Keith’s head with a smirk.

Keith shoves his legs through the too-large jumpsuit, stomping down on the floor as if he’s crushing all the intrusive thoughts under his feet that try so hard to crawl up and worm themselves into the back of his brain.

* * *

_“Tell us your history with the accused, Commander Shirogane.”_

_“I first saw him in the arena, approximately a decaphoeb ago.”_

Keith could barely remember the fighting pits. The crowds. The countless, nameless, faceless monsters. The only memories from back then that stay clear in Keith’s head was the face of that Galra Commander looking down at him, and those flowers.

Red, thorned roses that gave off light and bloomed in the dark of his cell, sent to him after every fight. Soon, his cell glowed with them as bright as if he had lit a fire inside. Moonlight fire. His eyes depended on them, not being as keen in the dark as a full-blooded Galra’s. They had helped him escape, through the pitch black tunnels. They had helped him stay sane.

He remembers getting the first rose, tossed down by a guard onto the cold ground at his feet. He had thought he was dreaming, and buried his nose into it. Despite glowing like flames, the petals were not warm.

Yet his eyes burned hot, all the same.

* * *

A portion of the bay area of the ship was sectioned off for him to walk around, during the day cycle. He’s monitored, but it’s more space to move than in his previous times in captivity. He eats there, but if he can snag something that won't spoil easily, he hides it under his shirt and squirrels it away in his cell.

Some of the time, Shirogane is the one to bring him his meals. Always deliberately crafted for the diet of a young, omnivorous Galra hybrid. Keith never eats in front of him. Never talks. Whenever the older man lingers too long, Keith would bare his teeth until he leaves. One time, Keith gets so impatient, he finally snaps at him.

“Get lost! I’m not answering any questions.”

The Commander sets down the tray.

“I was just about to ask if you have any for me.”

Keith turns his head when the thick, savory scent hits his nostrils. If _he‘s_ sticking around, this might be a bribe. 

“Yeah, I do,” he challenges, “What’s your _deal?_ ”

“Apologies if my methods of torture aren’t extreme enough for you.”

Keith bets they are plenty extreme. He bites at his cheek, holding back that retort.

“Where are we going?"

“To Central Command," replies the Galra, "There will be a trial. It’s to be publicly aired, if my intel is accurate.”

Keith sneers. They want to make an example of him.

“So this whole galaxy can watch me get my head chopped off.”

“There will be a trial.”

That's why Shirogane is keeping him alive. And yet - He looks down at the tray. There is meat, as always. A warm, red, juicy slab of rare meat. It makes a little puddle that trickles into the heap of starchy tubers on the side, which are roasted and glisten with a layer of fat. There are even packets of spice on the side for him to add, to taste.

Small unnecessary luxuries.

He sits, all slow and cautious. Then reaches to grip at the sides of the platter, and pulls it into his lap. He stares Shirogane down mistrustfully, reflexes screaming at his arms to yank back the tray, out of the other man’s reach, and to shovel in the food before it can be jerked out of his hands.

Except for one thing. One more suspicion Keith still hasn’t squashed. He still hasn’t figured out why he’s entertained it for so long, really.

“Was it you who sent the flowers?”

There’s a change in the atmosphere, at that. For the first time, the bigger man seems to shy away from Keith’s gaze. Keith silently dares him to pretend he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

After a beat, the Commander exhales. “Desert Roses. I found them on a planet on my travels. Locals called them burning bushes. I thought you could use a bit of light.”

“Why?”

Shirogane shifts uncomfortably, and replies only with: “I’ll tell you after the trial.”

* * *

> 𝙳𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔-𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 “𝚈𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚔’𝚜” 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙰 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚄𝚕𝚊𝚣 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.
> 
> 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎’𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚝 𝟷𝟸.𝟻 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚜.
> 
> 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜.

* * *

It’s the dead of the night-cycle, and Keith jerks up as soon as he hears a combination punched in. The door unlocks and slides open, and a Galra steps into Keith’s holding room.

He’d been right. There was another Blade on the ship.

“Ulaz?” Keith asks the dark outline.

“Knowledge or Death. We don’t have much time, kit - ”

“ _Ulaz_.” - says a voice. A voice that’s not Keith’s. A voice that’s deeper and awfully familiar.

“I don't recall authorizing you to access this section of my ship.”

Shirogane’s hulking form is there in the entryway, blocking their only way out.

“I was simply curious about your prisoner,” answers Ulaz, collected, “ I don't suppose you would mind if I . . . take him in for further examinations?”

The implication draws a growl from the Commander’s chest. His arm activates and begins to glow.

Keith lunges forward, between the two Galra.

“Shiro, NO!”

Maybe it’s the name that does it, Keith would think later, but it makes the man pause all the same, and stare at Ulaz with furrowed brows.

“You’re lying to me,” he concludes.

Then his gaze flickers between Keith and Ulaz, and his eyes narrow further into slits.

“I see.”

* * *

He had left Keith locked alone in that cell, taking Ulaz with him without any explanation.

Keith paces back and forth, loses count of the time, aims a good kick at the wall, and then paces some more.

Until he hears the faintest shuffle outside. He freezes.

“Shiro,” he calls, “I know you’re out there.”

After about ten ticks, he hears a sigh.

“Go to sleep, little fang.”

“What did you do to him?”

“He is not on this ship anymore.”

“I don't believe you killed him.”

Shiro huffs, and Keith hears more shuffling. He imagines the man folding his arms, mouth drawn tight.

“Can you still feel him through your bond?”

Avoiding the statement cements Keith’s conviction that Shiro had let Ulaz live. But it’s a confusing answer, and takes a moment for Keith to process. When realizes the implication, it makes him bark out a laugh.

“Bond? We’re not like, mated, or anything.”

“That's . . . not a major issue right now.”

His mattress is too large for the room. And even though the bedding’s clean, there’s a warm smell underneath that's so familiar it’s been making him . . . dream. Making him dream the kind of dreams from which he wakes up all aching and sweaty, with a heart pounding harder than the largest war drum.

He flops onto his stomach, and breathes in. “This mattress smells like you.”

“If that’s a problem, stop smelling it.”

He thinks back to all the times he's spent on the cold ground, behind bars, without so much as a blanket. He thinks about ending it, cutting a vein before his execution. To not give them the satisfaction. But for now, his stomach is full and he is warm.

“Look. Can you just . . . come in here?”

No answer. 

“It’s my last night alive, Shiro,” he says, “I’d rather not spend it staring at a wall.”

The code is punched in and the door slides open. It’s Shiro’s outline, silhouetted against the outside lamps.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” says the Galra.

“I’m not,” Keith answers. And it’s true.

He digs his calloused palms into his eyes and tries not to think about his mother, or Ulaz, or the father he never knew. He bunches his fists tight and tries to think about how one day, lions will soar across the universe, again.

The bedding creaks under Shiro’s weight.

“I will handle things.”

Keith looks up at the face hovering over him. Shiro’s eyes have flecks of warm gold in the gray of his irises, too. Lamplight kisses his cheekbones, and shadows his lashes and the serious slope of his brow. Keith wants to run his thumb across it.

“What made you want to do this?”

“This?” asks Shiro.

“This. You’re . . . You don’t just wake up one day and decide to be - ”

“ - _This,_ ” Shiro lifts his hand and examines it, sighing. “I was a sickly child. So I dreamt the most impossible dreams I could imagine, and - decided to reach them.”

“Like what?” pries Keith, “The stars?”

“I was young. Like you. I refused to live out whatever time I had left grounded on a colony.”

“You had something to prove to yourself,” Keith concludes for him.

Shiro grimaces. “I certainly never back down from a challenge.”

Keith rolls over on his back.

“No offense, but you don’t seem very free these days. Y’know. To be chasing after whatever you want.”

Shiro’s sigh comes out in a purr. “No . . . ” he confesses to Keith. To the stars. To himself.

_“ . . . no one is.”_

But Keith’s heart is too swollen with hope to accept the surrender.

“Well?” he encourages quietly, “Aren’t you gonna do anything about that?”

Slowly, Shiro lowers his hand to Keith’s hair. He runs his claws through a few stray locks of ink.

“Maybe in another life.”

Keith grabs his wrist, fingers pressing into violet down. “It’s not too late in _this one_ ,” he whispers.

“Sleep well, little fang.”

“Keith.”

“Hmm?”

“You can call me Keith, if you want.”

“Keith.”

As he drifts off with Shiro‘s fingers in his hair, Keith promises to himself will make the man see, if it’s the last thing he does.

* * *

_“This Council has determined that the accused, Yorak, is guilty of all charges.”_

At the end of the trial, it doesn’t surprise Keith how numb he feels at hearing the verdict.

Staring up at Shiro near the high seats of the amphitheatre brings back memories of the arena. Of when he first saw him. Just like then, Shiro’s in the middle of all the military brass, high-ranking officers that make up the tribunal to send him to die.

Except Shiro is marching to the speaker’s podium, crowds parting for him. Instead of the underwater-feeling of his ears blocking out the cheers and chants, the hish comes from the stadiums. A faint murmur runs through the audience, until it grows, and grows, until the buzz sounds downright alarmed. Keith can’t make out what they’re saying, among all the languages and dialects.

Shiro speaks at the stand, voice strong and confident. “I challenge the Council - or any Galra in the Empire who would fight in their name - _for the right to a sentencing_.”

One tick goes by. Then two. Until finally, a figure on the committee rises.

“Conceded,” says Sendak. “Tell us, Shirogane. What will you do with him?”

* * *

> 𝚅𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝: 𝙶𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚜
> 
> 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎: 𝙴𝚡𝚒𝚕𝚎 *
> 
> * 𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚎

* * *

The right to a sentencing. An ancient Galran tradition. Any Galra on a tribunal or jury can fight for the right to determine the sentence of the convicted party. If someone in the prosecution has been wronged by the convict and think the sentence is too soft, they can fight for the right to punish them, however they want.

Or in this case - save them from capital punishment.

Back in the cruiser after they’ve stolen away, Keith snickers, shoving his shoulder into Shiro’s side.

“Admit it. You’re disappointed no one stepped up.”

“Sendak was a surprise,” admits the man, “From now on, keep a low profile. Eyes will be on you.”

Apparently, Commander Shirogane’s reputation had kept anyone from rising to his challenge. They will open up an assignment for Shiro in some backwater solar system, where he’ll be under the watch of Central Command.

 _Until they need him_ , Keith thinks wryly.

There is no time for the two of them to celebrate. They need Keith to disappear as soon as possible.

Shiro peers at the dashboard of their transport pod. The is staring at a blinking dot, and brings up its specs on the screen.

“Is that craft familiar to you?”

“It’s them.”

They hail the craft. Once they land on the surface of their meeting point, Shiro withdraws a wrapped knife from his armor.

It’s Keith’s blade.

“Never give up on yourself, Keith.”

As he holds it out, Keith reaches out and closes his palms around the hilt. Their fingers twine through each other.

“You, too, Shiro.” Keith whispers, throat dry. “Hold onto that. For now.”

As Shiro escorts Keith out of the pod, arm in arm, they see several masked blades waiting in front of a ship with translucent cloaking. 

Before he leaves, Keith looks up to get just one more fill of the other man’s features. One day, Keith will see him again, of course, he tells himself. But still.

“Hey, Shiro?" he hesitates, "About the flowers, back at the arena.”

Shiro quirks the corner of his mouth.

“I sent them because . . . I wished I was in there, with you.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter @NightKupala. Comments mean the world to me!


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